For the new administration of President George Washington, the first few years of national governance had proved disagreeable. Mounting tensions abroad threatened to entangle the young republic in foreign disputes for which Washington had little stomach; domestically, financial instability endangered the nation with economic calamity. Worse yet, antagonistic ideological factions - pitting those who opposed a strong central government against those who favored increased Federal power -were laying the seeds of partisan political parties.
But perhaps the greatest threat to the new nation lay beyond the western frontier, where a confederacy of Indian tribes had repeatedly bested American forces. The day after Christmas,
1791, Secretary of War Henry Knox presented Congress with the president's plans for pacifying the hinterlands of the Ohio Country. Because the region's hostiles had refused "offers of peace on reasonable terms", Knox requested an unprecedented expansion of the Army. The tribes were flushed with "the pride of victory'', claimed Knox, and "a strong coercive force" was needed to secure peace. Despite the horrors of an all-out conflict on the frontier, as well as the tremendous cost of blood and treasure it would entail, Knox advised Congress that there was little choice. ''. An Indian war of considerable extent," he warned, "has been excited."
In some respects, Knox's dire warning was something of an understatement. Since the close of the Revolutionary War, America's western frontier had seen little respite from violence. The 1783 Treaty of Paris had brought peace to Britain and the United States, but the agreement meant little or nothing to the western Indian nations. Some tribes, exhausted by war, favored peace. More hostile tribes - particularly the Shawnee and Miami - remained inveterate enemies of the Americans.
Questionable American negotiations did little to help matters. In a series of councils held with tribal accommodationists, Federal commissioners signed several treaties that ostensibly expanded American ownership north of the Ohio River. Incensed by unrelenting American expansion, tribal war hawks organized the most imposing Indian confederacy ever seen in America. Setting aside centuries-old tribal rivalries, the war faction succeeded in drawing support from nearly a score of separate Indian nations, most notably the Shawnee, Miami, Delaware, and Wyandot, as well as the fierce tribes of the Great Lakes: the Ottawa, Chippewa, and Pottawatomie. The leadership of the confederacy was increasingly controlled by an aggressive group of war leaders: Blue Jacket of the Shawnee, Buckongahelas of the Delaware, and Tarhe of the Wyandot. Arguably the most formidable of the tribal leaders was Little Turtle of the Miami. A taciturn war chief who spoke little but thought much, Little Turtle was a skilled warrior not to be trifled with. A tireless raider of American settlements, he first came to notoriety in 1780 when he
was credited with destroying a largely French expeditionary force that penetrated the Miami homeland. During a furious pre-dawn attack, the invaders were nearly wiped out.
Under the leadership of such warriors, the tribes wreaked havoc along a wide arc of the frontier. In the wake of macabre frontier killings that indiscriminately fell on men, women, and children, Congress had had enough. In the summer of 1790 it authorized a punitive expedition that targeted the hostile population center of Kekionga at modern-day Fort Wayne, Indiana. The commander of the column, Brig. Gen. Josiah Harmar, initially met with success, burning Kekionga and several satellite villages.
But when the general dispatched smaller columns to operate in outlying areas, they were lured into an ambush by Little Turtle and summarily cut to pieces.
Shaken by the embarrassing Harmar debacle, Congress appropriated a staggering $300,000 for another expedition and authorized an increase in the size of the army from one to three regiments. The expedition, placed under the command of Maj. Gen. Arthur St. Clair, was to subdue the hostiles by erecting a permanent military installation at Kekionga. On paper, it was a reasonable plan, but St. Clair and his army were fated for disaster. Rushed into the field, St. Clair's army was little more than an ill-disciplined mob. On the morning of November 4, 1791, the troops were attacked by the combined forces of the hostile tribes and nearly annihilated in three hours of fierce combat. All told, St. Clair suffered at least 630 men killed and 280 wounded; it would remain the worst defeat suffered by the U.S. Army in over a century of Indian conflict.
Exasperated by the plodding campaigns of both Harmar and St. Clair, President Washington began the process of selecting a new commander for the demoralized remnants of the army. Eventually, Washington compiled a list of 16 former officers that might fit the bill. They were, to a man, veterans of the Revolution and seemingly qualified for the job. But as Washington mulled over his choices, he grew increasingly frustrated.
His most senior, and aged, officers, Washington quickly dismissed as either too infirm, untrustworthy, or dangerously unimaginative. Even more, officers were scratched off the list for a variety of reasons, including dishonesty, incompetence, or outright drunkenness. Ultimately, Washington settled on an officer he knew well: Maj. Gen. Anthony Wayne.
A native of Pennsylvania, Wayne was every bit the soldier. He eventually commanded a brigade under Washington during the Revolution and earned fame for his successful night assault of the British fort at Stony Point, New York in 1779. He was a methodical planner, a stern disciplinarian, and so fixated on handsome uniforms that he was known as "Dandy Wayne." But he was better known by another sobriquet. When an acquaintance ran afoul of a court-martial and requested his intervention, Wayne refused. According to tradition, the disappointed malcontent barked "Then Anthony is mad, stark mad." The nickname stuck. For rock-solid discipline in the face of the enemy, few officers were the equal of "Mad " Anthony Wayne.
Washington, who knew Wayne and his faults well, seems to have held his nose a bit in making the selection. In making his choice, the president acknowledged that Wayne was vain, easily Battered, and so aggressive that he was "liable to be drawn into scrapes." But he had seen Wayne in action, and saw in him "a good many points as an officer." Wayne's shortcomings, Washington concluded, could be tempered with experience,
"and it is to be hoped that time, reflection, good advice, and above all a due sense of the importance of trust which is committed to him ... will correct his foibles."
As time would tell, Washington wouldn't regret the decision. By midsummer of 1792, Wayne had arrived in Pittsburgh and set about whipping - somewhat literally- his troops into shape. Wayne implemented a new combined-arms organizational structure to the army, which was christened the Legion of the United States. Divided into four sub-legions, each segment of the army blended infantry, riflemen, artillery, and cavalry into a unit that could fight independently if needed. He also instituted a rigid system of discipline in the Legion, which was freshly uniformed and well equipped. Miscreants who violated the articles of war faced severe floggings, or, in some instances, the firing squad. In the wake of such severe punishment, Wayne's troops began to look, and act, the part of professionals.
Perhaps more importantly, Wayne drilled his men ceaselessly, occupying their every waking moment with the manual of arms, close order drill, and complex battlefield maneuvers. Wayne put his men through war games that approximated combat as closely as possible. Legion riflemen, dressed and painted as Indians, engaged the army in mock battles. The troops
fired blank cartridges during the training exercises but Wayne remained an enthusiastic advocate of the bayonet. The exercises were designed to forge a tough and disciplined fighting force that could quickly deploy against the unconventional threat posed by their Indian opponents. By the first week of May, 1793, Wayne's Legion arrived at the frontier town of Cincinnati, the jumpingoff point for any campaign into the Northwest.
There remained, however, a slim prospect for peace. At the same time the Legion readied for a push into the Indian heartland, the Washington Administration dispatched three peace commissioners in a last-ditch attempt to avoid hostilities. The trio of diplomats, Timothy Pickering, Benjamin Lincoln, and Beverly Randolph, eventually met with tribal delegates - as well as British agents - near Detroit. From the outset, however, there was little hope that the peace mission would succeed.
The American commissioners were unwilling to renounce the territorial gains of previous treaties, and tribal hardliners insisted on an Ohio River boundary. By late summer, pointless haggling had gotten nowhere, and Wayne grew increasingly anxious to set his troops in motion. With little prospect of compromise, Wayne's Legion was finally untethered.
Due to the logistical constraints of supplying an army deep in the wilderness, Wayne was unable to move the bulk of his army until October 7, 1793. Unlike his sloppy predecessors, Wayne insisted on rigid march discipline, kept out constant patrol and Bank parties, and fortified his camp every night. In 6 days of steady marching, Wayne erected a fortified camp about 23 miles south of St. Clair's battleground. Wayne hoped to consolidate his forces at the locale before pressing farther north, but when worsening weather announced the arrival of winter, it was reluctantly agreed to halt the army. Convinced that undue haste had doomed previous American campaigns, Wayne opted to sit tight for the winter.
His men, however, wouldn't remain idle. Wayne ordered the construction of a massive fortification that would accommodate the entire Legion and serve as a base of operations for the following year's campaign. Named Fort Greenville in honor of Wayne's friend Gen. Nathanael Greene, the post was a formidable installation encompassing 55 acres and afforded the troops nearly impregnable protection from Indian attack.
The general also ordered the construction of an advance post which symbolically reclaimed the battlefield of St. Clair's Defeat. It was a haunting assignment for the troops. "When we lay down
in our tents at night," recalled one horrified soldier, "we had to scrape the bones together and carry them out, to make our beds." Work details buried heaps of bones and about 600 human
skulls. Fittingly named Fort Recovery, the post was a stark exhibition of Wayne's
determination to revenge the repeated disgrace of American arms. Anxiously awaiting the arrival of the spring campaign season, Wayne was confident, he assured the secretary of war, that he would "bring those Haughty savages to a speedy explanation."
The Indian confederation entertained other plans. With British encouragement and supplies, over 1,000 warriors began gathering the following spring, and by June were on the move toward Fort Recovery, which seemed ripe for attack. Outside of the fort, 360 packhorses were being prepared for a return trip to Fort Greenville. Early on the morning ofJune 30, a friendly Chickasaw scout tried desperately to inform Recovery's commander, Capt. Alexander Gibson, that he had seen footprints that indicated the presence of a large enemy force. Not grasping the full implication of the intelligence, Gibson dismissed the information.
It was a fatal mistake. When the packhorse convoy headed back to Greenville, bedlam erupted. The drovers were fired on, and Maj. William McMahon charged out of the fort at the head of a dragoon detachment. Running into a devastating ambush, dozens of the horsemen were dropped in a hail of gunfire. The survivors, with hundreds of tribesmen at their heels, barely made it back to the safety of the fort. Exuberant after the successful ambush, a number of warriors made an impetuous attack on the stockade, where they were met with a punishing fire from the fort and took heavy casualties. A brief siege ensued, in which the Indians were unable to dislodge the American garrison.
It was a grave reversal for the Indian confederation. The month following the demoralizing Indian reversal at Fort Recovery, Wayne had the Legion on the move for the center oflndian population along the Maumee River in northwestern Ohio. By August 8, the army had reached a locale known as the Glaize, at the confluence of the Maumee and Auglaize Rivers. The site was home to a number of abandoned Indian villages and thousands of acres of native crops. After securing the site, the combative Wayne erected an installation which he named, appropriately enough, Fort Defiance. As summer came to a close, it was clear that a big fight was in the offing.
It was also apparent that the final confrontation would likely take place somewhere along the Maumee River. Keen for fresh intelligence, Wayne sent out constant patrols from his three scout companies. He increasingly leaned on the advice of his most experienced woodsman, William Wells. Wells had been captured by the Miami as a youth, reared as an Indian, and knew the enemy well. Leading a crack group of seasoned frontiersmen, Wells brought in a Shawnee prisoner on August 12. Wells had been seriously wounded during the mission, but his prisoner revealed a good bit during interrogation. About 700 warriors were gathered downstream, more were on the way, and they were determined to make a stand against the Americans around the rapids of the Maumee River. Worse yet, the Shawnee reported, British troops were nearby. Although the territory had been ceded by Great Britain at the close of the Revolution, Redcoats had recently erected a fortified stockade - Fort Miamis - below the rapids.
Wayne was already aware of the fort, but was under strict orders not to incite war with England. British involvement, however, clearly complicated matters. Supplied by British authorities and encouraged by British agents, most of the tribesmen were convinced that the fight against Wayne would be an easy affair. The confederation had already defeated two American armies, and Blue Jacket, taking a central role in leadership, thought the feat could be repeated.
For his part, Little Turtle seems to have been one of the few native leaders who wasn't convinced. Increasingly alarmed by what he saw as Wayne's highly disciplined approach to the campaign, the Miami chieftan is reported to have suggested that the confederation would be better off negotiating a settlement. The disorganized attack against Fort Recovery had been a disaster, and thus far, British support had amounted to little more than talk. Wayne, he said, was a 'chief who never sleeps", and it was unlikely that his army could ever be surprised. Marginalized and disgraced for voicing such sentiments, Little Turtle led his own Miami tribesmen to the Maumee but lost wider influence in the confederacy. Convinced of American incompetence and British support, most of the hostiles were itching for a fight.
Wayne would give them one in short order. After the Indians rejected a last-ditch offer of negotiation, Wayne moved the Legion down the Maumee River. Scouts reported that the Indians, who numbered over a thousand, were formed up in stretch of forest along the Maumee - Fallen Timbers - that had been struck by a tornado some years before. The tangled swath of downed trees was obviously a likely place for an Indian ambush.
But there would be one last delay. By August 18, the Indians were formed up on the north bank of the Maumee River and directly across Wayne's path. On the left closest to the river were the lake tribes, the Ottawa, Pottawatomie, and Chippewa. The center was occupied by the core tribes of the confederacy, the Shawnee, Delaware, and Miami. The Indian's right was held by a mixed bag of Wyandot and Iroquois, as well as a detachment of Canadian volunteers dressed as Indians.
The Indians expected a fight the following morning, but the American army failed to materialize. The delay unnerved the Indians. Jonathan Alder, a white captive present for the battle, later explained that the Indians customarily fasted prior to combat, but after waiting for two days at Fallen Timbers, they "thought that this might be one of Wayne's stratagems to Weaken our men." Unsure of when the Legion would actually appear for battle, groups of warriors drifted to the rear to cook food. By Alder's recollection, the Indian battle line consequently dwindled from its full strength.
Early on the morning of August 20, 1794, Wayne had the Legion formed up and on the move in marching column, but the general had no intention of running into an ambush. Out in front rode a screen of 150 mounted Kentucky volunteers. They were followed by the army's advance infantry guard, about 75 men, under the command of Capt. John Cooke. Directly behind them and anchoring the center of the line were several units of dragoons and artillery under Wayne's personal direction.
On the right, half of the Legion infantry advanced under the command of Brig. Gen. James Wilkinson; on the left, the remainder of the Legion infantry was under the command of Lt. Col. John Hamtramck. Companies of light infantry and riflemen operated at both ends of the American line. Wayne's left flank was protected by 1,300 mounted Kentucky volunteers. All told, the 3,300 Americans stretched for nearly a mile.
When the initial screen of mounted Kentuckians finally approached Fallen Timbers, they were greeted with a heavy fusillade that sent them reeling. Hundreds of Ottawa and Pottawatomie warriors burst from cover and gave pursuit. In the mad dash for safety, the Kentuckians lost any sense of order and scattered for the rear, Indians close on their heels. Capt. Cooke, leading the advance unit of regulars, attempted to organize a defense but found his own lines thrown into confusion by the terrified Kentuckians. Cooke's men succeeded in firing several volleys into the onrushing Indians, then fell back toward the main body in considerable confusion. While the Legion's lead elements struggled to buy time for the rest of the army, Wayne ordered his main columns to form up two lines deep. The Indians were pressing hard into the center of the American line, and fast-moving parties of warriors ran for the ends of the American line, probing for an exposed flank. Capt. Robert Miscampbell, leading a small troop of horsemen in a counterattack, rode too far ahead of supporting infantry units. A vicious melee ensued when the dragoons crashed into a group of warriors. Miscampbell and several of his men were surrounded and killed, the rest dashed off for safety as best they could.
On the American left, the troops were hard pressed by a mixed Wyandot and Canadian force that threatened the flank, and Wayne rushed troops to reinforce the sector. Leading a troop of Legion dragoons in a wild charge into the timber, 20-yearold Capt. Solomon Van Rensselaer, saber flashing, cut down a warrior who was concealed behind a tree. As he did so, he was shot square in the breastbone; the ball pierced his lungs and exited his left shoulder. "With the blood rushing from his chest, mouth, and nose," recalled an eyewitness, the tenacious Rensaselaer refused treatment and stayed in the saddle until the Indians were on the run.
As his main lines readied for a final push at the enemy, Wayne's blood was up. Lt. William Henry Harrison, future president of the United States, was concerned that the impetuous general would personally lead a charge and neglect to issue orders. Wayne brushed him off and barked that he had but one standing order for the day: 'Charge the d_d rascals with the bayonet."
When the army at last deployed into line of battle, the Indian confederacy was confronted with a disciplined force of crack troops the likes of which they had never confronted before. Moving forward with trailed arms, the Legion was under orders to attack the Indians with nothing but cold steel before firing a volley into the backs of
the retreating enemy. As the American lines crashed into
the timber, warriors quickly abandoned their positions in the face of the bayonet charge, and dozens were bayonetted or shot as they frantically scrambled to escape the killing ground in the forest.
Indian resistance collapsed in minutes. Out on the left, the Kentucky volunteers swept forward and enveloped the Indians' right. It was a brutal fight in which little mercy was expected or given. As the militia ran forward, Kentuckian Garret Burns leveled his rifle and fired at a warrior. "I saw the Indian fall," he recalled, "and rushing on, seizedhim by the hair. I then put my foot on him to pin him down, and took the scalp off." Veterans recalled that charging horsemen made short work of the fleeing Indians; a number of the warriors were "shockingly mangled " by dragoon sabers.
Little more than an hour after it began, the battle ended in disaster for the Indian confederacy. Routed from the field in considerable confusion, the Indians raced for the protection of the British post at Fort Miamis. Although the warriors expected to be granted asylum within the stockade, they would be sorely disappointed. Despite years of empty promises, the British had no intention of precipitating a war with the United States. The captive Jonathan Alder recalled that "The Indians flew to the British fort and when they came to it, the British stood there in the entrance ... and wouldn't allow one of them to enter." In the face of such betrayal, demoralized and embittered Indian warriors scattered into the forest.
For Anthony Wayne, the brief battle had resulted in complete, if costly, victory. The Legion suffered 40 dead and 90 wounded; the Kentucky volunteers 7 dead and 13 wounded. Precise figures for Indian casualties would remain elusive, but they had clearly taken the worst of the fight. About 40 Indian bodies were discovered on the battlefield; unknown numbers of dead and wounded had been carried off during the retreat.
Flushed with success, the Legion marched for Fort Miamis. Wayne opened an unpleasant correspondence with the British commander, Maj. William Campbell. Amid mutual threats and recriminations, the two opposing officers put up a bold front but it was obvious neither wanted to spark a war. Wayne contented himself with a blatant display of contempt. In full view of the Redcoat garrison, Legion troops burned hundreds of acres of crops and several trading posts belonging to British subjects. "Having burned and destroyed everything contiguous to the fort," a delighted Lt. John Boyer recorded, the army headed back up the Maumee River. "It may be proper to remark," wrote Boyer, "that we have heard nothing from the savages ... since the action." Unopposed, Wayne marched his men up the Maumee Valley, laying waste to all Indian villages and crops in his path. The advance finally halted at Kekionga, where the Legion forever prostrated Miami power by erecting Fort Wayne on the site of their former capital.
Wayne officially secured the southern two-thirds of Ohio on August 3, 1795, when he and delegates from a dozen defeated tribes signed the Treaty of Greenville. During the decades-long contest for the territory, untold hundreds of lives on both sides had been sacrificed to possess it. Now, with the stroke of a pen, the Indians ceded twenty-five thousand square miles for approximately one-sixth of a cent per acre.
Not until August 12 did a reluctant Little Turtle affix his signature to the document. He then spent the rest of his days attempting to help his people adapt to the new realities of American ascendency. Peace reigned in the Old Northwest for the succeeding two decades, due in no small part to his influence. The grand old chief who had vanquished two American armies remained a quiet peace advocate, in keeping with the promise he made to Wayne after making his mark on the treaty. "I am the last of the chiefs to sign this peace with the Americans," he vowed, "so also will I be the last to break the agreement."
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